


The golden Throat Griffin

by Patchwork_Quilt



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Geralt is still a Witcher, Jaskier has guilt, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Witcher!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchwork_Quilt/pseuds/Patchwork_Quilt
Summary: “Who the fuck is it, Coën?” Shouts Lambert, and Coën let's go, arm still around the new Witcher’s shoulders.“Everyone - meet my brother in arms: Jaskier - the Golden-Throat Griffin.”Jaskier gives a small wave and a dramatic bow to the wolves. “Hello, friend Witchers.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert/Eskel/Coën
Comments: 37
Kudos: 199





	1. A place to roost

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter of my Witcher! Jaskier fic 
> 
> I hope you enjoy

Coën was glad to be arriving at Kaer Morhen. It wasn’t his true home, but it was good enough. He loved the Wolves dearly, but they weren’t Griffins. He didn’t feel like he belonged, no matter how much the wolf Witchers said he did. They were rowdy, and preferred to wrestle rather than read old ancient texts. He missed his true brothers. But as far as he knew, he was the only one left.Kaer Morhen was a safe harbor for him. The Wolves had become a second family to him and he would do anything for them.

He smiled to himself as he got to the door, giving it a good knock. The doors swung open, and big arms scooped him up in an embrace. They smelled of juniper and basil; he immediately recognized it as Eskel. 

“Hey, Griffin!” The brown haired wolf said with a big smile. Behind him stood Geralt, who gave a wave to him. Coën smiled, heading into the keep.

The keep could be cold, but it was wonderful. The hot springs were a gods-send. Warm and comfortable, especially when compared to the harsh winter outside. A day or two after he arrived, Lambert joined them - and it was good timing too. A big snow storm was on its way. It would be near impossible to reach the keep during or after it hit.

Everyone was seated around the long table, mugs full of good ale, and hands full of cards. They were playing a game of Gwent. It started as a good calm game, until Lambert started to talk shit. They were all yelling at each other when suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. Eskel placed his hand of cards down, and headed for the door. He pulled it open.

Standing there was a man shorter than the rest of them, but taller than Lambert. He had bright blue eyes with a very light amber ring around the iris. His hair was fluffy and brown, with small feathers growing in it. He had two swords on his back, the sign of a Witcher. Before Eskel could say or do anything, Coën shot up and pushed him aside.

He stands in front of the other witcher, and he stares at him. The other Witcher stares back, a grin spreads onto his face. Coën pulls him into a tight embrace, both of them crying.

“Who the fuck is it, Coën?” Shouts Lambert, and Coën let's go, arm still around the new Witcher’s shoulders.

“Everyone - meet my brother in arms: Jaskier - the Golden-Throat Griffin.”

Jaskier gives a small wave and a dramatic bow to the wolves. “Hello, friend Witchers.” 

—

He had heard tales, the last school of Griffin Witcher - besides himself - wintered with the Wolves. He hums as he starts north. The thought of another Griffin excites him. One of his own, one of his family. He pats his horse.

“I wonder who the other Griffin is? Which one escaped?” He says out loud to the horse. The horse just snorts.

“You’re right, what if he’s not there and the wolves don’t let me in? There’s a storm coming, I hope we make it.” He shakes his head,with a laughing sigh. He knows he’s not gonna make it to the keep before the storm.

He gets to the last village before the path that leads to the keep. He says goodbye to the horse, giving her a carrot as a parting gift. The storm had blown in overnight. Snow was now falling thick, leaving the world around Jaskier in dangerous sleepy grey. He stands in front of The Witchers Trail, and he gulps as he looks up the mountain.

“They weren’t kidding when they nicknamed it The Killer. It looks deadly. Probably even more with all this blasted snow,” He curses and starts his way up the perilous mountain pass. He shivers. The snow falls in large white clumps, and his vision is even more skewed. He slips and almost falls all the way back down - or off the mountain entirely. He catches himself with his hands, the sharp rocks cutting through his gloves. He whimpers slightly but pushes himself back up. He soldiers on, making it to the large wooden door. He gives it a heavy knock, an incredibly dashing man opens the door. He’s taller than Jaskier, and has scars across his face.

But before the man can get a word out or reach for his sword, another man pushes him out of the way. “Coën” he whispers.

“Julian” the other whispers back, as if they say it too loud the other might turn to dust. Suddenly Coën pulls Jaskier into a brotherly embrace. 

“Who the fuck is it, Coën?” Shouts a loud slightly obnoxious voice from inside the keep. 

Coën lets go, arm still around Jaskier.

“Everyone - meet my brother in arms: Jaskier - the Golden-Throat Griffin.”

Jaskier gives a small wave and a dramatic bow to the wolves. “Hello, friend Witchers.”


	2. to dine with wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man Coën's arm is around gives a bow.
> 
> “Hello, friend Witchers,” he Jaskier—says. Geralt looks at him with curiosity. His fluffy brown hair mimicks the feathers of baby birds. His eyes are the color of cornflowers, or the sky on a warm cloudless day. 
> 
> He could get lost in those eyes. He shakes his head, giving the new Witcher a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy Geralt being a gay disaster   
> I’m working on making chapters longer

The man Coën's arm is around gives a bow.

“Hello, friend Witchers,” he Jaskier—says. Geralt looks at him with curiosity. His fluffy brown hair mimicks the feathers of baby birds. His eyes are the color of cornflowers, or the sky on a warm cloudless day. 

He could get lost in those eyes. He shakes his head, giving the new Witcher a small smile. He watches as he puts his swords and other gear down in a neat pile. 

Eskel walks over and offers him a handshake. 

“I’m, uh, well, I’m sorry if I looked like I was gonna hurt you before. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Jaskier gives the brown haired Wolf a bright dazing smile, reassuring him that it was all okay. 

Coën is the happiest anyone has ever seen him. 

“Wait, so why are you called the Golden-Throat Griffin?” asks Lambert, and Geralt elbows him,shooting him a look of “don’t be rude.” 

Jaskier just laughs, and smiles. Geralt wonders if he ever doesn’t smile. 

“Well, I used to be called that because I’m not only a Witcher. I also have the talents of the arts. Not painting and all that, but music, writing, poetry and that sort of thing.” 

“You used to be able to find him singing throughout the halls of Kaer Seren, even if it was a dismal day,” Coën chimes in. Geralt notices something dark in Jaskier’s eyes at the mention of the old keep. 

He watches as Jaskier puts a smile on his face. “That I did, Coën, I would sing very often. And where else would you find such old songs and stories and ballads to sing other than Kaer Seren?” Geralt can hear the pain in his voice. He wants to take that pain away, but he stays silent.

“Well, we would all love to hear you sing or perform,” Eskel says as he hands Jaskier a pint of ale. 

Geralt watches while taking a sip of his own ale. His eyes trail up the new Griffin’s body. He's built perfectly, and Geralt blushes slightly as he stares at him. Though the warmth in his face is almost certainly due to the copious amounts of ale he has put into his body. 

“Well, this must be the other Griffin Witcher now, it’s nice to meet you. Please make yourself at home.” Everyone jumps, startled at the sudden appearance and voice of Vesemir. The older Witcher chuckles. “Geralt, take his stuff and put it in the guest room. I’m sure he wants to catch up with Coën.” 

Geralt nods, picking up Jaskier's weapons and bags. Jaskier flashes him a bright, toothy grin. He smiles to himself, glad none of the others can see his blushing face. 

Geralt walks back down the long stairs. The sound of laughing and singing floats up through the keep. It feels lively again, like it used to when he was younger. 

He smiles as he reaches the hall again. Jaskier is singing a ballad about a milkmaid, or something. His voice sounds beautiful. He shakes his head, pushing those thoughts to the side. 

The night continues on, they drink and sing and laugh until Vesemir makes them all go to bed for the night. There are chores to do in the morning. Geralt smiles, watching as Lambert and Eskel pepper Coën with small sweet kisses. 

Jaskier laughs. It's a beautiful sound that makes something inside Geralt wake up, only for a moment, then settle back down. Everyone makes their way up to their rooms and settles down for the night. Geralt heading up first.

Geralt lies in bed. He can’t fall asleep. His brain is too active to settle down just yet. Images of the Griffin’s smile flash before him every time he closes his eyes. He gets out of bed, frustrated. Over the years, he’s come to learn to accept and just handle some things. To not let them bother him. 

Not getting sleep is not one of those things. 

He sighs, pulling his boots back on. A run would do him some good. He jogs lightly down the stairs, ending up back in the big main hall. 

Over near the hearth he sees Jaskier. The man is asleep, his high collar jacket a makeshift blanket on top of him. Geralt quietly walks over, not wanting to wake him. He Looks the other man over. He pauses at his neck, the home of a long jagged scar. It isn’t like a normal scar, or any scar Geralt has ever seen or had himself. Instead of being white or light pink as most scars tended to be, this one is gold. He makes a mental note to ask the other Witcher about it sometime. 

He gently scoops Jaskier up. He’s heavy but Geralt can still carry him. He brings him up to the guest room and lays him on the bed. Tucking him into the furs and blankets. He has a faint smile as he closes the door and heads to his own room, now feeling like he can rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> If you enjoyed leave kudos and a comment!!   
> You can find me on tumblr at Patchwork-Quilts


	3. eagles can’t outrun smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Sorry I took so long to update!

It’s been a few weeks since Jaskier arrived, and he's fitting in wonderfully. He laughs throughout every training session, even when he fails or loses, never letting the smile drop from his face. 

Sitting on a bench on the outskirts of the area, he takes a deep breath. His eyes drift across the field, taking in the sight of the white haired witcher, Geralt. He's gorgeous. His eyes trail up his body, and his gaze is met by amber eyes staring at him with equal curiosity. Jaskier quickly looks away, towards the sparring match going on in front of him. Coën and Lambert are fighting. 

Letting the sound of clashing metal fade into the background, Jaskier allows himself to be lost in thought. Kaer Morhen is an ancient keep, crumbling down around them. But, oh, how beautiful it is. The stone foundation embossed with the fossils and bones of long dead and forgotten ocean creatures. The many rooms and halls, each filled with secrets that may never be discovered. It makes the tips of Jaskier's lips curl into a curiosity driven grin. He understands why Coën chooses to spend his winters here. 

<>

The daylight fades from the sky as quickly as a bard escapes from a married woman's bed. Jaskier had finished eating before the others, and he's bouncing around. Singing songs that the common folk have long forgotten—some of the ballads were in Elder, as well. The Wolves and Coën all flash him beautiful happy smiles, which cause him to smile and bounce even more energetically. 

His heel suddenly snags on a loose stone, and he starts falling backwards. He feels the heat of the fire before the rough pain of his body hitting the old stone floor. He lets out a small scream as his sleeve almost falls directly into the hearth. He rolls to his left, out of the danger of being a roasted Witcher. His chest heaves it feels impossible and improbable as it is, like his lungs are filling with smoke; a feeling he's all too familiar with. 

The shouts of the other Witchers disappear into white noise, his vision blurs, and he becomes lost in an old memory. 

_ He felt like his body was on fire, even though it wasn’t. His throat was throbbing, each breath took an extreme amount of effort. He heard screams and turned his head to look, only to watch and see one of his friends, one of his brothers be struck down by a mage.  _

_ He turned, and ran. As fast and as far away from his burning home as possible.  _

__

<>

His vision comes back to him as someone shakes his shoulders. Pairs of amber eyes stare at him with concern. 

“I’m glad you’re awake again, fledgling,” Vesemir says in a soft and concerned tone, “I think that it’s been a long day. Up to bed, all of you.” 

“I’ll be up in a bit, just have to collect myself,” Jaskier replies with a fake, faltering smile. 

“I’ll stay here with you, keep you company.” Jaskier jumps at Geralt's deep voice but he nods, thankful for the company. 

He doesn't want to be alone right now.

The white haired Witcher holds his hand out, an offer to help the other man up. Jaskier accepts it, blushing lightly. Geralt pulls him up to his feet, their hands lingering together for a few seconds longer than necessary. 

“I’ll make you some chamomile tea?” the Wolf asks, his hand leaving Jaskier’s to scratch his beard. 

Jaskier just nods and follows him into the kitchen. 

Geralt opens a cabinet that's higher than most of the others, and gets out a small tin and spoon, then two mugs. He pours water into them from the pitcher that was on the counter, placed a piece of cheesecloth over the tops of the mugs, and scooping out one spoonful of loose tea for each. He pulls the cheesecloth into little bundles and ties them with a little thread, and plops them into the water. 

“Isn’t the water cold?” Jaskier asks. And Geralt grins and casts Igni on both mugs. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jaskier chuckles, taking a sip of the hot liquid. Geralt smiles softly. “Do you want to talk about what happened? You don’t have to if it upsets you.” 

Jaskier shakes his head, wrapping his hands tighter around the mug. 

“That’s okay, we don’t have to talk unless you want to.” 

Jaskier opens his mouth to say something but he is cut off.

“Why did you come here this winter? I know that Coën winters with us, but you’ve never been here before.” The white haired Wolf stares at him with curiosity and concern. 

“It’s safe…” the Griffin Witcher mumbles out. 

“It is safe. But I’m sure the other keeps are too, so why here?” Geralt cocks his head to the side, the way a dog might when confused. 

“It’s far away from Oxenfurt. A couple of years after Kaer Seren was sacked, I decided to pretend that I wasn’t a witcher, and be something new. I knew I was a good singer and amazing at all the other literary arts. So I went to Oxenfurt to be a bard.” Jaskier looks at Geralt to make sure he's listening. The other witcher nods for him to continue. 

“I was a bard and a damn good one at that. I made friends—even had a boyfriend,” he adds bitterly.

“He found out I was a Witcher and got jealous, yelling at me telling me that I was selfish to be a Witcher and a bard, getting to write ballads about myself. He turned out to be a mage, and well, he almost killed me. I’ve been running from him ever since.” 

Geralt furrows his brow, his knuckles white as he tightens his grip on his mug. “That’s absolute shit! You shouldn’t have to worry about a mage jumping you while you’re already worried about mobs and monsters!” The Wolf Witcher growled. “How about in the spring we travel the path together? Two Witchers would be more efficient in dealing with monsters, and I’ll make sure that bitch-ass mage doesn’t touch or bother you.” 

Jaskier smiles slightly. “I think I would like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, leave a comment and a kudos!  
> Also! I have a Witcher side blog now!   
> You can find it on tumblr at Patchwork-Doublet

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a comment and Kudos.   
> Next part will be out soon


End file.
